


Past Tense

by scrltvizh



Category: Fallout 4, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fallout (Video Games) Setting, Alternate Universe - Ordinary People, Crossover, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 18:33:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18856717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrltvizh/pseuds/scrltvizh
Summary: Wanda Maximoff has just witnessed her parent's murder and her brother's kidnapping, unable to do anything to help save them. It’s the apocalypse, and life as she knows it is literally a thing of the past. Now she’ll have to learn how to survive in a world she never truly thought possible, while she searches for her lost sibling with the help of strangers. Based on the plot of Fallout 4 and its setting.(In short, a fun and novel-length adventure story centered around ScarletVision in a post-apocalyptic world)





	1. Bird Song

As the elevator rose awake, shifting and clanking and shaking after its long slumber, Wanda Maximoff gripped her stomach and shuffled along the metal, attempting to stay upright. Shock dulled her senses as unwelcome, foreign memories played on repeat in her mind. _This isn’t happening. That didn’t happen. Wake up, Wanda, you’re dreaming._ She felt vomit making its way up her throat, and then painfully pushed back down by the quiet sob she let out, not daring to become any louder than silent.

She impatiently looked towards the sky, but groaned as she was blinded by light. How long had it been since she’d seen the sun? Her eyes darted to her feet, red circles appearing behind the black of her closed eyes. Her brain couldn’t comprehend the possibilities of what waited for her on the surface, but she could imagine a nightmare. What if there was nothing? What if she was alone?

The elevator finally came to a halt, settling in place with a tired sound, rusty metal against rusty metal. She stayed unmoving and bent, hands on her knees and waiting for the nausea to pass. When it didn’t, she staggered forward, almost surprised when her feet hit dirt. She raised her head slowly, her fear of the possibilities unwavering.

To her surprise and relief, the lot was more or less how she remembered it. Metal barrels were strewn about, weeds growing among the dead grass, the vehicles stationed in the same locations. Rusted and broken down, yes, but familiar.

Wanda allowed herself a breath of fresh air—an inhale followed by the exhale of whatever it was in her stomach. She heaved until there was nothing left, as dry and unforgiving as this landscape she vaguely remembered—as if she’d only known it from a dream.

When she was done, she took the pistol she’d found in the vault from her pocket to hold in her hand, careful not to touch the bolt handle. Her Pip-Boy display said there were six more bullets in the clip, ones she couldn’t afford to waste. “Pietro.”

“Pietro!” she screamed, scanning her surroundings in a spin. The sun reflected off the metal surrounding her—of the vehicles and the elevator, but hit no person except herself. She sunk to her knees—finally completely defeated by her emotions—and cried. Her body shook as tears gathered in a puddle by the puke. Only then did she realize, after the buzzing in her ears finally subsided, that nothing else had uttered a sound. She dried her eyes with the back of her hand and glanced toward the trees—no birds sung, no insects droned.

In a fit of terror she stood, starting determinately toward the dirt road which led down the hill into her neighborhood. She walked with the gait of a woman who had been broken, the gait of a woman whose dried tears stuck on her stone, pale face.

Wanda had no trouble following the path, her hazy memories providing a reliable guide to the dip of the hill and the curve that lead into her street. She remembered running up this path. Stopping to turn her head back towards the fallen gate which used to secure the lot, she imagined that she was seeing herself running up to it. While people screamed, begging to get in, she skipped to the front of the line with her parents and twin brother. “We’re on the list,” her father explained. She heard his voice as if he were speaking now. _“It’s going to be_ alright _, we’ll all be fine.”_ And she had believed him.

…

The best way to describe the scene which our beloved heroine had discovered as her destroyed childhood home must be simple. As she stood, gaping at it, that’s all she thought about. How to describe it. A simple description, she decided, could prove to be just as effective as a complex one. A simple description could be interpreted in countless ways, for each human on Earth to be able to relate to on their own level. So, she spent the minutes unmoving by trying to come up with the right few words.  

She didn’t know how long it took for her mind to wander, realizing suddenly that she hadn’t shed a tear since she set foot upon the street. It was like her mind felt the need to distract her. Was the scene before her really so devastating that her brain had decided she was incapable of processing it?

While she stood pondering, she failed to notice the faint buzzing sound that was making its way steadily towards her. She only turned her head when it got too loud to be ignored, but even then she did it reluctantly. How dare the sound distract her from--“Oh, shit.”

In the vault, she came across dog-sized insects, but never ones who could fly.

A quick glance and her feet were in motion automatically. They were gigantic, disgusting, and green-ish, the kind of creature to send shivers down your spine at just the thought of them. Her breath quickened as she ran, turning her head every few seconds to try to get a good look. As far as she could tell there were four.

 _Six bullets_ , she thought, quickly doing the math and not liking the odds. She peeked in every house she passed by, searching for a room with no big holes in its walls, but so far all the buildings were in complete disrepair, neglected and fallen apart. Besides, she’d be trapped. Wanda stopped to turn around, being a little farther ahead of them, and aimed. It hurt to stand still, it felt wrong. Swift and ready to attack, the only thing that stood in between her and the monsters was a small pistol and her lack of knowledge about how to use it.

Wanda aimed for the face of one of them, her hand shaky and body unsteady from running so hard. Before she pulled the trigger she hesitated, fear taking over her body. Could she ever possibly make it out of this alive? _Bang._ The question was taunting her, frightening her, turning into a monster itself and creeping up on her as she watched as none of them fell. They were closer to her now, but despite her knowing that she couldn’t run forever, she started again, tired and frightened. By then, she was coming up to the last house on the left side of the street, exasperated at herself that she couldn’t figure out a clear way to get out of this.

Suddenly, a cracking noise sounded behind her. She jumped at the sound, turning around to find a man coming from the back of one of the houses, a powerful-looking gun positioned at his hip. Two of the creatures fell to the street with a dying buzz, while one veered off towards him angrily and the other continued towards Wanda. She backed up as she fired at it, her breath hitching as it got closer. It finally fell after she’d fired four bullets into it, much to her relief, as the dead corpse lay only three feet from her shoe.

When she looked up, all four over-sized insects were dead, and the man’s gun was now pointed at _her_.

**A/N: So I decided to take out the intro to Fallout 4, sorry if that was confusing but everything that she saw while she was in the vault (parent's murder, Pietro's kidnapping) will be described in a later chapter. I've already written Chapter Two so that'll be out shortly... Also, if there are things I ever get wrong, like game facts or gun facts or anything like that, please don't be afraid to tell me. I don't know a lot about most of the stuff I'm going to be writing in this story, so if you notice a mistake and tell me about it I appreciate it so the story can be better :) Thanks!-scrltvizh**


	2. A Simple Description

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so this has been a long time coming. In truth, I had this chapter done even before I published the fic, but I still needed to edit it, and I was putting it off, and then I went on vacation and blah, blah, blah. Just excuses, really. But you've waited long enough and I'm truly sorry it was such a long wait. I really hope this isn't as bad as I think it is...

Wanda's grip on the pistol hadn't faltered as she turned to point it at him in return. She'd never pointed a gun at anyone before. It was somehow terrifying, seeing straight through the slit at the end of the barrel to the middle of his torso, but she persisted. Maybe it was because she knew, albeit secretly, she could never fire it. He made no movements except for the tightening of his grasp upon his weapon, his hands opening and closing firmly around it. Her breath hitched at the sight (she’d never had a gun pointed at her, either) and wondered if he was as scared as she was. His stance and certain air of confidence led her to assume he wasn’t. 

The man was at least thirty feet away from her but she could tell right away he was considerably taller than her—maybe a couple inches over six feet. He was blonde with a handsome face, his straight hair messy and his clothes ragged and dirty. He wore a beige vest with a white button up underneath and tucked into his pants. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing muscular forearms toned with dirt. She cleared her throat. He had a lean body, but everything else about him was intimidating except for his voice.

“Put your gun down and I won’t shoot,” he said, and Wanda was relieved to hear some patience in it. And a hint of an accent. British?

After considering a moment, she did what he asked. If he really wanted to kill her he would have by now. Instinct took over her emotions, reminding her that she feared death and forcing her to forget everything else.

He started walking towards her cautiously, only powering down his gun after he brought another smaller one from his ankle. She thought about running, even stolen a glance over her shoulder to the house nearest her, but it had no fenced backyard. Oh, Mrs. Lirak, what happened to you? What happened to your fence? What happened to the world?

When they came face-to-face, the top of her head ended at the start of his neck. She tried her best not to look frightened at the way he towered over her, broad shoulders blocking her view. She noticed he’d started looking at her funny, his eyebrows knit together. “Is that…Is that a vault jumpsuit?”

She looked down, confused about his interest in the blue fabric she wore. It was funny, no matter how fucked-up everything seemed to become, fashion was still a go-to conversation starter among acquaintances. Nice to know. “Yes,” she nodded. She ran a hand over it to smooth it out, her outfit still freshly cleaned and pressed.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, his voice turned from confused to demanding. She wondered if he was angry with her, but then recognized the fear in his eyes. She was sure hers held that same flicker. 

“I dunno. They gave it to me,” she answered, taking a fleeting glance to the gun at their feet. She would reach for it if he weren’t so close. 

“Who?” he took a step towards her as if there was a corner he to back her into. Her hands were raised in surrender, body slightly shrunk away from him in case he was the type to lose his temper. Instead, his features softened and he took a step back as well. “Where did you come from?” he asked less urgently. 

Wanda hesitated before she straightened up and pointed over his shoulder. “111,” she murmured.

He turned his head to look and then back again. “Just now?” He asked, eyebrow raised in question.

“Just now.”

He shook his head. “But that isn’t possible.” He reached down to grab her gun and threw it onto the roof of one house, where it broke apart against some shingles that hadn’t been torn away yet.

“Hey!” she protested, eyes wide. “What the hell! That was all that I had.” She had half a mind to shove him out of shock, but she refrained from it, imagining what he could do to her in return.

“It’s trash,” he said simply.

She scoffed, seething, but took this opportunity to change the subject back to her own curiosity. “What do you mean it’s impossible? Where is everyone?”

The road was silent and still as he simply stared, looking her up and down as if he wasn’t sure she was real. She crossed her arms timidly. “What year do you think it is?” he asked finally. There was curiosity in his eyes, fascination. Like he was a scientist and she was some new-found specimen for him to figure out. 

Wanda rolled her eyes and frowned at his complete disregard for her concerns. “2077,” she said, drawing out the last syllables at the look on his face as she said it. He was expecting her to say it.

“The year of the bombing,” he nodded in disbelief.

A rush of images came crashing into her perception, and she watched as the family was sat around the television. To her, it happened two hours ago. But she knew now that wasn’t true. She remembered the fear she felt that morning, watching as the news reporter spoke the words with difficulty. The confirmation of their worst nightmares. The apocalypse. They’d signed up for a place in 111 without seriously considering they’d ever need to use it.

She watched as the smiles fade, laughter ceases, and the room’s atmosphere turns from joyful to horrified in a matter of seconds.  _ And how many years has it been since then _ , she wondered. The man had looked at her like she was a ghost.  _ How many years has it been since then _ ?

But her mouth wouldn’t form the words, despite her desperate need to know. The question stayed clawing at her mind, mocking her. She looked down at her feet and whispered instead “The cryo pods.”

“What?”

“They…put us in cryogenic pods.  _ God _ , how could we have been so stupid. But, everything happened so quickly, and we were all so scared. W-we just did what they said,” Wanda explained, rambling.

He watched her duck down and tuck a loose, brown strand behind her ear, eyes glossy with unshed tears. He put away his gun then, slid it back into the ankle holster and flung the heavier one over his shoulder. She was relieved to find that he believed her story, but it didn’t help rid her of the face residing in the back of her mind.

“Please,” Wanda gasped, turning to look him in the eyes, “I had a brother.”

The man scoffed. “Yeah.  _ Had _ .”

“No, you don’t understand,” Wanda begged. “We were  _ all  _ in the vault. Him and me and our parents.”

He cautiously took a step back, unsure again about her. “So why then were you the only one to come out?” He asked slowly. She shook her head at his misunderstanding, unable to stop the hand reaching around to his back pocket. Wanda imagined he’d grabbed a knife or another gun, which would stay out of her sight until she lunged towards him.

“I can explain,” she spoke softly, making sure not to make any sudden movements. But it felt wrong to try and say it out loud. Vulgar. She wasn’t ready for it to be true yet, and telling him... She breathed in deeply at an attempt to hang onto her resolve but the next words still came broken. “My parents are dead.” Her throat burned badly, tears threatening to spill over. But she had cried so much today, she was surprised there were any tears left. “They were killed right in front of me. And the same people who killed them...  _ kidnapped  _ Pietro.” Through the blurriness of watery eyes, she watched his muscles relax. 

He waited for her to continue but she couldn’t, darting her eyes away as a tear fell on the pavement between them. He sighed, understanding, and mumbled “I’m sorry.” She wiped her eyes as another tear fell, and when her head rose again she noticed for the first time how tired he looked. Wise. Like he’d seen more death and loss than she could even fathom. “Did you see their faces?”

“Just one,” was all she could choke out. Her head spun and her knees felt like rubber. She glanced down at the broken sidewalk and moved to sit along the curb, her breath becoming heavy and labored. Beads of sweat broke along her hairline while a pang of nausea hit her again, harder than before. “ _ Ahh _ , my head hurts,” she hissed.

“It’s alright,” he assured softly. He held out a flask she hadn’t noticed him take from his bag. “You’re dehydrated.”

She stayed unaware of the dryness of her mouth until the container came to her lips and water washed down her throat. Her eyes closed at the refreshing feeling, like renewal, as if she were being healed of the cracks in her chapped lips and the heavy breathing which hadn’t subsided. Before she realized it, the flask was almost empty. She took one more gulp and sighed, handing it back up.

“No, no. Drink the rest. I have more.” He pointed to his bag which was flung over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” she nodded, before proceeding to chug down the remainder. Her head wasn’t throbbing anymore and the nausea had passed, quick as it came. Had the bombs made water magic? 

“So, listen,” he started, while she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “There’s a settlement I know of nearby.” He placed the flask back in his bag and adjusted the strap. “I can take you there if you’d like. They’ll take care of you, give you somewhere to sleep and food to eat.” He started walking towards the bridge in front of them, which led to a dirt road littered with weeds and dying vegetation.

Wanda got up from the sidewalk but stood still. She felt compelled to follow him, maybe even a bit obligated, but she couldn’t bring herself to move her feet in his direction. 

He turned back at her curiously after he hadn’t heard her footsteps behind him, and found her darting her eyes back towards a small house back up the road a ways. Then she just looked him in the eyes, taking this moment to appreciate the shade of blue they were. A shade of blue she’d likely never get to appreciate again. “No,” she said shortly, surprising both of them at her bluntness.

His brows furrowed. “I-I don’t understand.”

“I can’t,” she looked down at her clasped hands. “I need to find him.”

He laughed hollowly, but upon seeing the look on her face, cleared his throat, sobering. “Look, miss. I don’t mean to be unsympathetic, but… he’s most likely dead. You realize that.”

Wanda shook her head. “I can  _ feel _  him,” she insisted. “I know he’s alive. Somewhere.” No matter what happened, all their lives, her brother’s presence was something she could always rely on. It became almost like a sixth sense, how she could always tell when he was near. Their connection was unwavering, persistent, and she was sure she’d know if it had been broken. She was sure she’d know if he were dead. “It’s a twin thing.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know.” He pointed at himself and said with a bit of regret “Was an only child.” He brushed the hair out of his eyes and she fiddled with the rings on her fingers, the air around them tense with awkwardness. “You’re gonna die out here, you know,” he blurted out.

She looked at him, nodded, and spoke remorsefully, “Then I’ll die searching.” Part of her felt dead already, anyway. The pair just stood after that, waiting silently under the brightness of the afternoon sun. She waited for him to do something. To start leaving, or to give her some pointers. Or maybe a knife would be nice.

He waited for her to start towards that house he knew must’ve been her home, or to speak again. Or to change her mind, which would’ve been ideal. Finally he groaned, growing tired of waiting after a full minute had gone by, and brought a hand up to his face, rubbing his eyes. He couldn’t just leave her, and that was the only thought he took into consideration when he managed to muster out of unwilling lips “What’s your name?”

“Wanda,” she said, eyes glued to the rings which decorated her digits. “Wanda Maximoff.” Her accent was heavy as she spoke her last name, tongue forming the words in a way only a Sokovian ever would.

“I’m Vision.”

She perked up at this, her mouth curling up slightly at the sides. Who knew the sound of his name would be the first thing she would smile at in two hundred years. “That’s… unique.”

He chuckled. “Well, it’s a nickname. But everyone calls me that. My real name is Victor Shade.”

She looked him up and down and smiled further, “Well, I can see why. You don’t look like a Victor at all.”

“Apparently not,” he said with a tilt of his head and a twinkle in his eye. To his dismay, she subconsciously took a swift glance back at her fallen home, and whatever content was showing on her face fell from it instantly.

“Do you want to take a look before we leave?” he asked her considerately, gesturing to the house.

She looked up at him, confused, “I’m heading off to find my brother, remember?”

He nodded, taking a second to look over his shoulder. It was a second nature that had started developing around the age he was forced into manhood—9 years old. He looked over hers, too, quickly scanning the area around them for the receiving end of a sniper rifle poking through the trees or the sound of a pistol being loaded around the back of some house. It was the habit of a living being in this day and age. And it would soon become her habit, too. “ _ We _  are heading off to find your brother.”

Wanda nodded at him gratefully. Maybe it wasn't too late for the world, she thought, as she returned her gaze back towards the house. Her feet started moving, the sounds of her sneakers shifting small rocks along the road, but suddenly she stopped herself, and all she could think was  _ no _ . She stayed staring at it for a few seconds, or maybe it was a few minutes, because her sense of time had become lost in the mix of all that was running through her beautiful mind, and finally she spoke with a confidence she wasn’t aware she possessed, or ever did or ever could again. “One day… I’ll come back here with my brother.” She turned back to Vision, who watched her with a recognition of potential. Potential for greatness or potential for evil, he couldn’t tell, he just stared with shock and silence, “And we’ll weep over the rubble together.”

As they crossed the bridge, leaving 111 and the sad neighborhood behind, she took one last look at it over her shoulder. A bird had positioned itself carefully on what was left of the roof nearest them, and chirped loudly, signaling another to come flying in from the trees to sit next to it. Wanda smiled sweetly, but turned from her past. How could she ever describe something like that so simply?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And again, this is definitely not my best work so I'm sorry for any mistakes or dumb bits I could've made better. I'm not sure when next chapter will be out but just know it'll come eventually. Thank you for reading!


End file.
